


Twisting Into Knots

by zmalikd



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Clothing Kink, M/M, Rimming, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 17:07:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zmalikd/pseuds/zmalikd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry owns a sweater and Niall fucks him in it. boom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twisting Into Knots

He’s wearing a sweater; the one that slips off of his shoulders sometimes. It’s the one he really hates because he thinks it’s too big, or him too small, and on occasion, he swears it makes him look like a girl. Niall always tells him that he’s just being silly; there’s no way someone like Harry could possibly look feminine even with a sweater that shows off too much skin. Harry doesn’t believe him, but that doesn’t stop him from sitting in the middle of the bed wearing that damn thing and nothing else. In all honesty, it’s for one reason and one reason only: Niall. The way his eyes roam over Harry’s bare shoulders, the way his mouth ghosts over his collarbones, leaving marks and bruises in his wake, well, that’s just convincing enough to get Harry to slip into it. And he’s positive that Niall won’t be taking it off of him any time soon.

The guy’s too busy staring to do anything, anyway. Not just staring, actually, more  _gawking_  than anything. Harry almost finds it comical the way Niall’s eyes widen and how his face tints red with the faintest blush. His hair’s mussed from his shower and he’s only wearing a pair of his boxers, the towel he was using is now on the floor, dropped and long since forgotten.

“And what are  _you_  doing?” he asks, his voice sounding strained, weak.

“Hanging out,” Harry replies, smiling just the tiniest bit.

“Where are your pants?”

“I…must have forgotten to put them on. Oops.”

Niall laughs, but it’s humorless.

“Where are yours?” Harry says, arching an eyebrow.

“I haven’t gotten to them yet.”

“Well, are you going to do that?”

Niall bites his lip, shakes his head. “No.”

“What are you going to do, then? Stare?”

“Staring is good. I like staring.”

“I can see that.” Harry plays with the hem of the sweater, which reaches just low enough on his thighs to keep him covered. “Not that I don’t enjoy you looking at me,” he laughs quietly, “but I’ve got a bit of a problem.”

“What’s that?”

Harry looks up, his eyes narrowing. He takes a deep breath and tells himself not to chicken out; he can do this, he can be a tease and Niall will love it. It’s not that teasing is out of their game play, but more of something reserved for special occasions. Well, Harry decides that this is as special as any other time and pulls the hem of the sweater up just a bit, slips his hand beneath it and grabs his cock, which is already wet and hard. He runs his fingertips over the head, his eyes never leaving Niall’s, and he shudders.

“You’re right,” Niall says quietly. “You  _do_  have a bit of a problem.”

“Think you can help?”

“I might be able to, we’ll have to see.”

Harry smirks, eyes following the plains of Niall’s body all the way down to his crotch, where his boxers have gotten tighter. He rubs his fingers over the underside of his shaft, feeling the veins and soft skin. He squeezes once, fights off the moan that’s building in his throat, and pulls the hem back down to hide himself.

“Come here?” His voice is nearly silent to his own ears.

Niall moves briskly, taking only a second to get to the bed, and then he’s crawling onto the mattress on hands and knees, his hips going between Harry’s thighs as if they’re two puzzle pieces, fitting together perfectly.

His hands cup Harry’s jaw, his lips leaving faint kisses along his cheekbones. He makes a noise that’s more of a growl than a groan when Harry works a hand into his hair and pulls. Then, he’s running his fingers up the inside of Harry’s bare thigh, making shivers and chills run through his entire body.

“You look great,” Niall whispers, tugging at the collar of the sweater to make it fall off of Harry’s shoulder. He places open mouthed kisses to his skin, his tongue trailing over his collarbone and biting down hard enough to leave teeth impressions.

Harry sighs, contently, both of his hands winding around Niall’s shoulders. He parts his legs wider and grinds his hips up, beckoning for Niall to touch. But when he doesn’t, Harry peeks through one eye and asks,

“Do you know what I want?”

Niall hums. “I have an idea,” he smirks, “but I do that every time, don’t I? Touch you and suck you off. What if I tried something new?”

Harry tilts his head to the side, already not liking the sound of this.

“Do you remember,” Niall continues, “that thing that you said we could try?”

Harry scans his memory, looking back at all the things, all the positions they’ve wanted to try since day one. He pulls a blank.

“No, I don’t.”

Niall leans in, takes his earlobe into his mouth and sucks on it lightly. “I want to fuck you –” Harry moans, nails digging into the other’s back, “with my mouth. Can I?”

And he instantly stills. His thighs tremble, his fingers letting up. Shaking his head, but not saying no, he asks, “With your tongue?”

“Bingo.”

“You want to…”

“Eat you out? Yeah.”

“What if I don’t like it?”

“Then I’ll stop.”

Harry relaxes.

“But,”

He tenses again.

“That doesn’t mean that you shoot me down before I even get my tongue inside of you, alright? Give it a chance.”

His eyes roll shut at the sound of  _tongue_  and  _inside you_  being all in one sentence. He nods hesitantly and allows Niall to move him about. There are heavy hands on his hips, twisting and turning him onto his belly. Those same hands grip his thighs roughly, pulling back so that he’s propped up on his knees, his chest still hugging the sheets. He feels Niall push the hem up, exposing him and making him blush. He wonders when he became so shy, or if he’s always been this way. Maybe it’s the sweater, he thinks, or maybe it’s the damn lights that are still on, beaming down on them. He really hates when Niall forgets to turn the lights out, but perhaps that was the entire point. He thinks about mentioning it, but then Niall’s hands are holding him open and there’s the softest tickle of his tongue touching him.

Harry tightens up, his body goes rigid, and he tries with all of his might to not wiggle away and tell Niall to get lost. It’s just  _strange_. He doesn’t understand why Niall’s so interested in it or why he’s never forgotten the time that Harry said they could try it out. That was nearly five months ago! That doesn’t matter much, though, because in an instant, Niall’s tongue pushes into him along with one of his fingers and Harry finds himself pushing back, grinding against Niall’s face. He moans in embarrassment. It’s as if his hips are moving on their own accord and right now he can’t seem to get them to stop. Niall’s tongue moves quickly inside of him, he pulls his finger out and runs the flat of his tongue over Harry’s rim, then he’s sticking it back in and adding two fingers.

Harry’s thighs start to shake and he’s whining deep in his chest, sounding like some kind of helpless animal. The wetness of Niall’s tongue feels good – almost _too_  good, and Harry wants to feel more of it.

He mutters out a soft “ _yes_ ” as Niall adds yet another finger, his tongue working with them, moving in and out, in and out, creating a rhythm that Harry’s hips begin to move with. When Niall pushes in, Harry pushes back, and with each push, their movements become harder, stronger and Harry’s moaning into the bed sheets, a hand fisting his own hair, sweat beginning to collect on his forehead.

Niall pulls away, his fingers still fucking into him, and he says, “Tell me what you want,” in a voice that sounds wasted.

Harry lets his legs open wider, his hips move closer to the mattress and he pushes his bum out farther.

“Inside,” he whispers, “I want you inside of me.”

“I’m already inside,” Niall says back, the sound of a smirk evident in his voice.

“Your  _dick_ ,” Harry grinds out. He looks over his shoulder and catches Niall’s eye. “Fuck me the right way.”

Niall’s eyes brighten up, the corners of his mouth pull up into a small smile and he removes his fingers all at once.

“Whatever you say,” he whispers.

Harry rolls his eyes, wants to reach back and hit Niall’s shoulder, but suddenly he’s left motionless, as well as speechless. He feels Niall press against him, his head rubbing against his rim, seeming to massage him, and then he shoves in with one thrust, filling Harry up and pressing his hips almost flush against the bed.

Harry struggles to keep himself upright. His arms start to feel weak, his knees keep sliding against the sheets. The sweater is still hanging off of him and he feels Niall’s hand grab onto the shoulder that’s completely exposed, his fingers digging into Harry’s collarbone. He uses this hand to maneuver Harry around. His thrusts come deeper, his legs slapping loudly against the back of Harry’s thighs. His dick slides easily, Harry being already wet from Niall’s tongue. There’s a string of curses coming from his mouth just as Harry tightens around his dick.

Grabbing a hold of his own cock, Harry jerks himself off. He runs his thumb in circles over the head, collecting the pre-come, and sliding it down the rest of his length. He makes his fist tight and fucks into it quickly, being careful not to mess up the rhythm Niall has going.

A hand comes to the back of Harry’s sweater, fisting a handful and tugging on it. The sound of stretching fabric cuts through the air and Harry shudders when Niall only pulls at it harder.

“I can’t,” Harry breathes out, his face falling against the mattress. His knees slide farther apart and he feels the discomfort of his hips being stretched too wide. “Niall.”

“How do you want it?”

“Just…not like this.”

Niall wraps his arms around Harry’s middle and leans his weight to one side. Harry follows his lead and lets the other put him down on the bed, his dick still buried inside of him. They’re lying on their sides, Niall’s chest to Harry’s back, and he reaches down, grabbing behind one of Harry’s knees and holding his leg up as he keeps thrusting in. It only takes a couple tries before Niall’s rubbing right against Harry’s spot and Harry, with his hand still stroking himself, moans out loudly, his body shaking.

“Right there?” Niall asks, voice low.

Harry doesn’t even get a chance to respond. He’s too busy working his hand harder and faster, squeezing the base and rubbing along the veins that are starting to stand out. He feels himself grow harder, his stomach tensing up. He has his free hand digging into Niall’s side, trying to bring him back whenever he pulls out to thrust in.

“You gonna come for me?”

Harry goes to say,  _yes_ , but instead manages out a, “Nnngghh” that sounds like some dying animal. Niall gets it, though. His thrusts become shallow, his movement quick, and Harry comes just as Niall reaches a hand over him and slides a finger into his mouth. He comes biting down on that finger, he comes with his eyes screwed shut and his back arched. Then Niall’s burying his face into the back of his sweater, crying out Harry’s name just as he finishes.

Harry’s head is spinning, his ears aren’t really working and his throat is so fucking dry he’s going to die. These are the excuses he will use if Niall asks why he won’t move, or why he’s just lying there, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves. He just doesn’t wanna get up, he doesn’t think he physically  _can_.

“Know what sucks?” Niall asks, pulling out and kissing Harry’s temple.

“Hm?”

“I just took a shower and now I’m covered in this stuff.”

Harry laughs, turning his face into his pillow. He says, “That’s too bad,” and laughs harder when Niall pokes at his ribcage, tickling him and pulling him in for a kiss that’s nothing short of passionate.


End file.
